Roxanne

Billie’s house had four bedrooms, excluding one for himself and two for his sons. There had been yet another family room upstairs along with a room with a computer that Billie had referred to as “his office”. He also claimed to have never have used to computer that sat inside of it, and that it was only there for his sons entertainment. Apparently they had known much more about the electronic than he had ever hoped to.

Billie had also had a bathroom where he had decorated not only the walls around it, but the toilet seat with flyers from rock shows that he had been to. When he had shown me the bathroom, he had introduced it with a laugh had muttered “and now you can see why Adrienne never let me in on the decoration decisions.” While it was impressive and honestly incredibly cool, I could understand why.

“Your castle is so beautiful,” I gushed to Billie as he led me back down the hall towards the foyer again. We had been interrupted a few times by Billie pushing me against a wall or onto a bed a few times, mumbling a few incoherent excuses followed by quite a bit of kissing. While absolutely none of his excuses made sense, I was more than happy to oblige to what followed them.

Billie chuckled as he entwined our fingers. I couldn’t help but to glance down at them quickly. “Thank you,” he thanked. “I wish I could take credit for more than that bathroom, but then this house probably wouldn’t be so beautiful, y’know?”

A small giggle escaped my lips as we descended the stairs of his home and wound up back in the foyer. A part of me couldn’t help but notice the fact that, despite Billie’s comment earlier that day about showing me the master bedroom, he hadn’t done so. While I hadn’t been especially excited or anything to see his room, now that he seemed to have purposely avoided the door at the end of the hall [which I assumed lead to his room, considering it had been the only room left] I couldn’t help but become intrigued.

However, I couldn’t exactly say anything or demand to see Billie’s bedroom, so I just continued on with the man as if I hadn’t noticed a thing.

“Alright,” Billie started as he stopped us outside of a door that matched all of the others in the hall. He turned to face me and pressed his back up against the door, however held one hand on the knob. “This is where I spend pretty much every night of my life, especially when I’m drunk.” A crooked grin crossed his lips while I cocked an eyebrow. Billie lifted his hand from my own and gently tapped a finger onto my chest. “So I’m trusting you to not repeat any of the embarrassing shit you’ll see in here.”

It didn’t take me much longer to figure out that Billie was guarding the door that more than likely lead to the studio that he had had built into his home. At the thought, I became somewhat excited to see what an in-home studio looked like of a famous rock star.

“I promise I won’t exploit Green Day’s new album to the paper,” I agreed with a soft giggle.

Billie laughed. “No, Roxy, I don’t give a fuck about that. We’re probably scrapping this piece of shit anyway. I’m making you promise me that I’ll never see a story anywhere about the music that Billie Joe Armstrong writes when he’s drunk.” He tapped on my chest again. “Because don’t you think for a second that I won’t know who their source is.”

I cocked an eyebrow at Billie admitting that he was going to scrap whatever he was working on. “You’re scrapping your album?” I asked lamely. I felt honestly stupid for not knowing anything about his music. While Billie had stated that one of his favorite things about me had been that I hadn’t already been a fan of his band, I couldn’t help but to wish that I had been. Or to at least have known more than their name and one of their albums.

Billie waved his hand at me dismissively. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll tell you more inside.” He went to turn the knob on the door, but stopped shortly and turned back to me. He stuck out his hand and once I had taken the time to look at what he was doing rather than giving him a confused look, I noticed that his pinky was extended. I snorted loudly and shook my head.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You told me that I was lame an hour ago for making you pinky promise with me. I’m pretty sure you also referred to pinky promises as shit. I am not pinky promising this with you.”

Billie grinned widely. “I pinky promise something with you, so now you have to pinky promise this with me. You can’t be a hypocrite, Roxy.”

I went to argue that he was the hypocrite in this current situation, however before I could Billie had locked his pinky around mine, and had begun to open the door to the studio. We both descended a small, dark staircase that eventually lead to what really was the stereotypical built in studio that you would see on MTV cribs. The only difference was that the one that Billie had built into his home looked like a small tornado had run through it and spit out papers and cans of beer everywhere.

Billie chuckled nervously and lifted a hand to run through his hair. “I, uh, I probably shoulder have cleaned up a little bit before you came over,” he admitted. “I never show anyone down here other than Mike and Tre, so I don’t really care about cleaning it too much. Every once in a while I start to get suffocated by the cans and papers so I get all pissy and clean it out, but that’s about it.”

I laughed as I followed him over to where a few chairs were placed at the opposite side of the room. Despite the fact that everything that was in the room belonged to Billie and was absolutely none of my business, I couldn’t help my eyes from wandering down onto a few of the discarded papers that had what I assumed to be his writing on them. I liked his handwriting a lot, as silly as that sounds.

Billie dropped himself down onto one of the chairs and picked up a guitar that had been placed onto the one next to it to allow me to do the same. I did so, however grabbed a piece of paper off of it that he had missed. When I noticed that this paper seemed to have a substantial amount of writing on it, I invited myself to read it.

Dearly Beloved

Dearly beloved are you listening?
I can’t remember a word that you were saying,
Are we demented or am I disturbed?
The space that’s in-between insane and insecure
Oh therapy can you please fill the void?
Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed?
Nobody’s perfect and I stand accused
For lack of a better word and that’s my best excuse

I cocked an eyebrow as I read the lyrics and then looked back up at Billie, who was fingering lazily as his guitar. “Did you write this?” I asked.

Billie looked up at me and smiled. “I did,” he answered. He winced. “Why? Are they bad?” Before I could tell them how I actually adored them, he continued to ramble. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. They just stuck out at me, and I figured, shit, they’re not the worst I’ve done, y’know? I just don’t see where else I could go with that. And well, I’m not going to record a 30-second song.”

I shrugged slowly. “Why not?” I asked. “I like it a lot,” I admitted while looking back down at the paper. I hesitated as I read over them again. “Who’s dearly beloved?” I didn’t have to wait for an answer, I already knew it was Adrienne.

Billie shrugged. “I don’t really know,” he murmured. His eyes connected with mine briefly and then he dropped them down to his guitar. “I know what you’re thinking,” he stated while wagging a finger at me. He chuckled. “No, it’s not my ex-wife. I already promised the guys that this wouldn’t be a break up album. I’m not writing any songs to or about her for this.”

“So you’re the lyricist of Green Day?” I asked awkwardly in order to change the subject. Despite the fact that I had just read his lyrics and had been speaking to him about them, it had never dawned on me that he actually wrote the lyrics. I felt my heart skip a beat at the realization that Billie wrote not only lyrics, but amazing ones for a living. As if finding out that he had taught himself the piano hadn’t been enough for my heart, this was certainly doing me in.

“I am,” he agreed with a grin and a small giggle. I imagine that it had to have been at the dreamy expression that had taken over my features. “I mean, the guys write some of them at times, but I write them for the most part.”

“That’s amazing,” I gushed suddenly. I believe that I took both Billie and myself by surprise at my slight outburst. I decided to ignore the burning sensation that had begun to rise in my cheeks as I continued to swoon over Billie’s talent. “Writing music—good music is so hard, and so few can do it,” I continued. “I don’t know anyone who has a creative enough mind to write lyrics. Especially in high school, everyone just cares about getting high and football. But you actually write lyrics and put your feelings into music.” I sighed and shook my head as my eyes dropped back to the paper in my hands. “It’s such a beautiful way to express yourself.”

Billie stared at me for a few moments with what seemed to be a baffled expression before he began to laugh. “You’re so fucking adorable,” he stated through short giggles. “It’s not that impressive, Roxy. Most of what I write is shit.”

“No it’s not,” I argued. “I’ve heard Green Day, Billie. Bryan had a CD. I hear your song, Good Riddance I think it’s called, at like every school event and wedding I go to.”

Billie rolled his eyes. “Do you even know what that song is about?” He asked. “I mean, I know it’s not your fault, I’m not judging you, but goddamn it’s a bitter break up song, not some sweet fucking lullaby.” He laughed again. “That song is my way of basically saying fuck you to an ex of mine a long time ago. She moved away on me and fucked me over and broke my heart and I wrote that song.” Another roll of the eyes. “And now they play it at graduations.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what to say at the moment. Quite honestly, Billie had left me baffled. It was true, I had heard Good Riddance everywhere that I went. It had been played at my Junior Prom, Bryans Senior Prom and his graduation. The song was everywhere, and come to find out, it was a bitter break up song.

“Really?” I asked slowly. It was honestly all that my mouth would spit out.

Billie snorted loudly and wheeled his chair over to mine. He wrapped his arms around my torso despite the guitar that was awkwardly situated on his lap and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but yeah. I hope you had the time of your life are probably some of the most bitter words that I’ve ever written.”

I giggled quietly as I folded into Billie’s arms. “Is it weird hearing your songs all over?” I asked. "Like, how many weddings have you gone to that have played that song?"

Billie chuckled and nodded. “I’ve gotten used to it, but it’s still pretty fucking weird. I’ll be driving down the road and there I’ll be on the radio. I usually just turn it, or I sit and get really fuckin’ critical on my voice cracking or something. Music videos are the worst. I avoid MTV at all costs.”

I slowly sat up from my position leaning against Billie with a cocked eyebrow. I hadn’t been sure if I had heard him right, but it sounded as if he had just dismissively admitted that he had heard his voice on the radio.

“You sing?” I asked awkwardly.

Billie chuckled and nodded. "Guilty as charged."

I felt my heart skip a beat and the words become stuck in my throat as I was about to ask them. There was no way that Billie was the lead singer of Green Day. That was too much. This entire day had been too much. I had gone over Billie's house that day expecting to fool around with him and perhaps find a bit more about each other out. I hadn't expected to find out that Billie the goddamn lyricist and lead singer of a famous band. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

"Can I hear you?" I asked hesitantly. I wasn't quite sure if that was an alright question to ask.

A small, coy grin crossed Billie's lips. He bowed his head for a moment and then after running a hand over his face, he nodded his head and lifted his guitar from his lap. I saw him squint his eyes while looking at the paper that had been resting on my lap as if to be reading them and then he began to strum his guitar.

It had almost been as if his guitar had been plugged into my body, because every time he strummed a chord, I felt a small shiver run down my spine. As if the past week of my life hadn't been surreal enough. Only a couple seconds later did he begin to sing.

And boy, could he sing.

To say Billie's voice was beautiful was perhaps the biggest understatement I could ever make. While Billie's voice was rather nasal, his voice had become so deep and guttural when he sang. His voice was so unique and beautiful, yet eerily familiar. It only took me all of half of a second to realize where I had heard his beautiful voice before. I still remembered the day that I had gone over Bryan's house and he had had Green Day's album, Dookie playing on his stereo. While I had never become an actual fan, I had always appreciated the band. That voice that I had heard for the first time all those years ago, the voice that I had heard from my laptop's speakers only a few nights ago was now a foot away from me, singing to me.

I felt my blood run cold and my heart begin to pound in my chest as I connected the voice and the memories in my head. Billie, my asshole from the plane, was the lyricist and lead singer of Green Day.

Well, I'll be damned.

Billie finished shortly after I had made the connection, and sat staring at me intently with a cocked eyebrow. I imagine that the expression on my face had to have been ridiculous considering how I had been feeling at the moment. "Am I that bad?" He asked with a nervous chuckle. He lied the guitar back down onto his lap.

I continued to stare at Billie for a moment until I had realized that he had spoken to me. "Your voice is beautiful," I stated. I felt as if I was on autopilot. "But I imagine that you already know that, considering you're the lead singer of Green Day."

Billie grinned and saluted to me.

"How could you not tell me that?" I asked slowly. Billie cocked an eyebrow. I gasped loudly as I recalled our first date, when I had told Billie that while I liked Green Day, I thought the lead singers words had been jumbled. "Oh my god, I insulted your voice," I whined. "But I didn't insult your voice. I think your voice is beautiful. I just can't understand you all the time."

Billie stared at me with wide eyes for a moment at my rambling, however he must have also remembered the car ride because he began to laugh. "I'm not insulted, Roxy. I know how I sound. Sometimes I sound better than others. I didn't tell you because I figured you either knew or," he shrugged and grinned widely at me, "I wanted to see your reaction."

I shook my head slowly as I began to accept everything that I had just learned. Billie was not only in a famous rock band that my boyfriend had listened to. I was currently sitting across the man that I had been unknowingly listening to for years. The man that I had met on the plane, my asshole from the plane, was a ridiculously beautifully talented person. Billie could sing. He had been born with more talent than I would ever develop.

And truth be told, that was a bit intimidating.

"You're--you're perfect," I spluttered. Billie rolled his eyes at me. "Your voice, your lyrics--they're all so perfect." I shook my head slowly and began to thread hands through my hair. "You're too good for me," I admitted with a weak laugh.

Billie, despite the fact that he had rolled his eyes again at me, laughed loudly. It was without humor, though. "I'm too good for you?" He asked. He sighed and shook his head. "This is why I was scared to tell you who I am, Roxy," he admitted. "I knew you would think differently of me. Everyone does."

I cocked an eyebrow as my mind slowly floated back down to Earth. My small freak out had had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Billie was famous, but the fact that he was so extraordinarily talented. "I'm sorry," I apologized lamely. "But I don't think that I'm not good enough for you because you're famous, Billie. I'm not good enough because of how talented you are. You taught yourself the piano and the guitar and you can sing so beautifully, and express yourself through lyrics." I paused and sighed heavily. "You're all that, and I'm just some stupid teenager that likes to cook. It's a little intimidating, I have to admit it."

Billie stared at me for a moment, and then rolled his eyes. "Do you even hear yourself?" He asked through an unamused chuckle. "Roxy, I can sing and I can write, but otherwise I fucking suck. My wife left me after nine years, doesn't that say something?" He rolled his eyes and gently cupped my chin in his hand. "I really don't have anything else to offer. I'm a deadbeat and half a drink away from being an alcoholic."

I frowned at Billie's description of himself. The guy had possibly one of the worst self images that I could have imagined. I had never met someone who had thought so lowly of themselves. "Bryan left me after seven years," I responded. Billie bit his lip as he realized his mistake. "Your wife leaving you doesn't mean you're a bad person, Billie."

He chuckled. "And my singing doesn't make me better than you are, Roxy. Don't think like that. Or if you do, at least don't express it." He giggled at my appalled expression. "I just got lucky. I dropped out of high school when I was younger and I'd probably be living in a fucking trailer right now if it wasn't for my voice. I'm not exactly a catch."

I cocked an eyebrow at Billie's words. "You dropped out of high school?" I asked. I faintly recalled him telling me that before, however I had forgotten about it.

Billie rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue in annoyance. I suppose that he was expecting me to be judging him, and I began to feel bad as I realized that a part of me had begun to. "I did," he agreed slowly while nodding his head. "I don't regret it, either. I hated school. Maybe I should have finished instead of sitting at home being a pot head all day, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I'm not where I am right now because I got a good education. I can't do math to save my life. Chemistry is a fucking foreign language to me." He shrugged. "But I'm thirty one years old and I can honestly say that I've never had to use any of that shit."

"Didn't your parents flip out?" I asked.

Billie laughed. "My mom did, yes," he stated. "But she couldn't force me to go. I was legal. She also knew that it wasn't for me." He shrugged. "It wasn't like I had no intentions of being anything. I knew I was going to be a rock star from day one. I knew that we were going to make it." He looked around us at the studio and a small smile tugged at his lips. "I didn't do too bad for not even a high school education, as you can see."

"I don't think less of you for not graduating," I told Billie as my eyes scanned the room around us. On the wall closest to the door was a mounted baby blue guitar that had been covered in stickers. It had been the only guitar that had been hung up, and I made a mental note to ask about it.

A warm smile melted across Billie's lips and he pressed a kiss against my lips. I welcomed it happily and placed both my hands on either side of his neck. He pulled away after a brief moment. "Are you at least any less intimidated?"

I grinned at Billie as I felt my cheeks begin to burn profusely at my freaking out earlier. "Not really. Can I have a CD of yours? I want to listen to you guys."

Billie chuckled. "I already answered this, Roxy. I have a few lying around. You can have them. I mean we're not Muse or anything but we're not too bad." I giggled loudly at Billie's sarcasm. Billie pressed another kiss against my lips.

"Can I have this, too?" I asked hesitantly as we pulled away while lifting up the paper that held the lyrics to Dearly Beloved on them.

Billie cocked an eyebrow as a grin tugged at his lips. "You're getting a little greedy, aren't you?" He asked. I frowned and he laughed. "Yes, take it, Roxy. If I really want to use them, then I'll just ask to see them." He shrugged and sighed loudly as he sat back in his seat. "Who the fuck knows what we're going to do these days."

At his statement, I recalled what Billie had said to me earlier that day about scrapping the album that they had been working on. "You're scrapping this album?" I asked.

Billie sighed again and dragged a hand over his face. "That's not on it. The album we're working on is called Cigarettes and Valentines. And y'know, honestly, Roxy, it fucking sucks. I hate it. It's like a chore working on it. I wrote most of it when I was, y'know, rebounding so it's a mix of angry love songs and a bunch of other shit. I just don't feel any of it. So I've been re-writing a lot lately, and well, what you're holding and what you’re surrounded by is what I've been able to come up with." He motioned to the room around us and its mess. “A pile of shit.”

I was a bit baffled at Billie's rambling and it took me a short moment to sort all of it out. Considering what Billie had said earlier about him being a deadbeat, I took how Billie felt about his work with a grain of salt. "I'm sure it's amazing," I argued. "You're too hard on yourself."

Billie shrugged. "It's not, though. None of us are feeling it. Mike is constantly asking me if I'm sure with all of this--but I'm not. And plus, I don't know what to say if we did scrap it. I feel like we would look fucking stupid to say we've been working on an album for a while and then we scrapped it."

I shrugged as I brushed a hand over my chin in thought. "So say you lost the recordings," I offered. Billie cocked an eyebrow at me. I felt stupid almost instantly. "I don't know, can you do that?" I asked lamely. "I'm sure you guys could say something like that."

Billie frowned at me from his chair. He scratched at his stubble idly as his eyes ghosted over the walls around us. "I don't know," he admitted. He bit down onto his bottom lip and then reconnected his eyes with mine. "I feel like everyone would know that we're fucking with them. I've never heard of that happening before."

I shrugged. "It's just a suggestion. If your heart isn't into it, then maybe you should just start brand new. What's on your mind lately?" I asked.

Billie's eyes connected with mine and he grinned. "You," he stated.

I felt my cheeks heat up and dropped my eyes to my hands. He giggled from his chair while I tried to control my heartbeat. "Other than me," I murmured coyly. I wasn't even sure if he had heard me until he responded.

"I, ah, I don't fuckin know. This is a pretty fucked up time in my life." He shrugged. "I don't know. I’m not going to sit and write an album about getting divorced. That’s a fucking waste. I guess politics are pissing me off a lot. I fucking hate that asshole that calls himself our president. I think he's a fucking scumbag and this country is a fucking joke."

I cocked an eyebrow at the venom in Billie's words. I hadn't been all too interested in politics and quite honestly, didn't care to be. I knew that George W. Bush was our president and that was about all I cared to know. I paid attention to elections, but not much otherwise considering it had just become legal for me to vote. Billie, on the other hand, seemed to care a lot more than I did. "So write about that," I offered.

Billie frowned and sat up. "I could," he agreed slowly. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and tapped on his chin idly. He then wagged a finger at me. "You might be onto something, Roxy," he admitted. "I just feel bad fucking our fans over like that."

I shrugged. "I'd rather Muse take ten years to create an amazing album than one year to create crap. I'm sure Green Day fans are the same way."

A grin tugged at Billie's features. He stood up from his chair and pulled me up also. He placed each of his hands on both of my cheeks and pressed a harsh, yet adoring kiss to my lips. "Thank you," he murmured against my lips. I cocked an eyebrow and he smiled. "Everyone is so fucking frantic right now and ready to give up on me." He scoffed loudly. "Some have. I've needed someone to just sit down and let me get my thoughts straight. I know I sound like a fucking pussy right now, but thank you."

I grinned as I slid a hand over Billie's rough cheek and kissed him back.

Only a few moments later Billie slid his hand into my own and began to lead me back over to the stairs, and I assumed out of the studio. I had allowed Billie to guide me along until we had gotten to the mouth of the stairs and the guitar that had been mounted on the wall caught my attention again. "Oh," I murmured as I dropped Billie's hand. He turned to look at me in question as I stepped away and towards the guitar. "What is this?" I asked while looking at it. I attempted to reach out an arm to gently brush my hand against the stickers that were on it, however Billie had stopped me long before I could even think about it.

"Aah--ah, no, no don't touch that," he gasped. He pushed my hand away rather harshly and moved between me and the guitar as if he was protecting it.

I recoiled my hand back and frowned deeply as if Billie had insulted me. Truth be told, I couldn't help but feel as if he had. "Sorry," I mumbled.

Billie bit down onto his bottom lip and took in a deep breath. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "No, no, I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. "I am. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just, er, I just don't want anyone touching it. It’s not just you, it’s everyone. I don’t even like to touch it That's why it's mounted."

I cocked an eyebrow as I looked at the obviously aged guitar mounted on the wall. The guitar looked incredibly worn and had obviously seen much better days. Half of its stickers had either already peeled off, or were in the process of doing so. "Who's was it?" I asked. "Or well, why is it so special?"

I regretted my question instantly from the look that crossed Billie's face. He looked almost pained by my question. If I could have taken it back, I certainly would have. There was clearly some story behind the blue stratocaster guitar that was mounted on the wall, and it clearly wasn't my time to learn it.

"You know what, forget I asked," I said while waving a hand dismissively at Billie and heading back towards the stairs. I didn’t want to argue with Billie anymore that afternoon. From that moment on, whatever Billie didn’t tell me, I didn’t want to know. "I'm sorry, it's clearly a touchy subject."

"It's my first guitar," Billie stated while following after me. I hadn't realized that he had taken it from the wall and was now holding it. The guitar had evidently been broken in a few places. It made sense as to why he was so afraid of me touching it. He seemed to be afraid of holding it himself.

"Oh," I murmured. "I can see why it means so much to you."

"No," Billie argued lamely while shaking his head. He looked down at it and smoothed some of the peeling stickers down. "No, you can't really understand why," he continued. His eyes slowly lifted back up to mine and I frowned at how dark they had become. The poor man looked so sad. I almost wanted to ask him to stop because I knew what he would be telling me next wouldn't be pleasant. While it may sound selfish, I wasn't sure that I was ready to learn much more about Billie at the moment. With everything that I had learned about him already that day, I was becoming a bit overwhelmed.

"I got it a long ass time ago," he continued. He groaned lowly and I could see the frustration in his face. "It shouldn't be this fucking hard to talk about. It's been so fucking long but it still fucking sucks no matter how long it's been."

"I'm sorry," I apologized lamely. Despite the fact that I had absolutely no idea what I was apologizing about, I felt genuinely sorry. Billie seemed to be going through such turmoil at the moment that I honestly felt terrible for him. I wished so desperately that I hadn't said a thing about the guitar and had just allowed him to lead me back upstairs.

Billie chuckled. "Don't be sorry, Roxy. It's nothing that you did," he stated. "You didn't cause cancer, did you?"

It honestly felt as if all of the wind had been knocked out of me, and it took me a second to find my breath. I had not been expecting those words to leave his mouth. "I--I, no, I didn't," I spluttered.

Billie chuckled again, also without humor as he looked at the guitar in his hands. "I would sell my home and every other thing I have ever owned before I would part with this baby," he stated. "This is my first guitar that, I, uh, I got it after my dad," he paused and scowled, "ah fuck. You know how I said I got my first guitar after my dad left? He didn't leave. He wasn't some deadbeat asshole. He died. He had lung cancer and he died when I was ten. I was so depressed and lost that my mom got me a guitar, hoping it would cheer me up. This is it. My dad wanted me to have it, too. He loved music. We both did."

It took me a few long moments to decipher Billie's rambling, however when I did, I felt my stomach drop to the floor. That had been why Billie had never mentioned his father other than to awkwardly say that he had left when he was very young. Billie's father had died when he was young, and quite apparently, it had been quite an impact on his life.

"I am, I'm--I"m so, so sorry, Billie," I spluttered. "Oh my god, Billie, I am so sorry." I took a step closer to Billie and after he had gently placed his guitar back onto the wall, I wrapped my arms around his small frame and pulled his body against my own.

Billie pulled away only a moment or two later, however didn't leave my arms. "Don't be sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't be this fucking sensitive about it, y'know? It just really fucked me up. I know I was young, but he was my best friend. He's the reason I got so into music, Roxy. He was a trucker, but he also loved to play, and he used to teach me when he was home." He frowned and sat down on the bottom step of the staircase. I followed suit. We both sat in silence for a moment as he ran his fingers over the guitar in his hands.

"You know that nobody even told me he had cancer until it got real bad?" He said. He scowled. "I was told that my dad had about two fucking months to live. I didn't know back then that everyone else knew but me. I'm the youngest in my family, so they all kept it from me because I was too young to understand." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "So basically I had time to say goodbye. It just really fucking sucked. I barely even remember the last couple months with him. I just feel so fucking stupid for taking my time with him for granted."

I was at a complete loss for words. There was absolutely nothing for me to offer Billie other than wrapping my arms around his body to comfort him. I wanted so desperately to apologize to Billie, to let him know how sorry I was for his loss, but I already had and I didn't want to sound like a broken record. I would just get aggravating by then.

Billie sighed loudly and buried his head into my arm. "It just fucked us up so much. He died, and then my mom met a real fucking deadbeat named Brad. He was the biggest scumbag I've ever met. He didn't fucking work and all he did was call me a faggot every time my mother wasn't around. He told me every day what a loser I was, meanwhile he couldn’t get his fat ass up to work. I would do anything to see the look on that motherfuckers face now."

I frowned at Billie’s rambling. His lashing out at me earlier that day had all made sense by now. He had lashed out at me because I had been privileged and was bratty about it, yet the poor man came from what sounded like a somewhat broken home. I genuinely wished that I had been around when Billie had been young so I could have understood what he was saying more. "He sounds terrible," I murmured.

"He's the scum of the earth." Billie sighed heavily into my arm and then lifted his head to connect our eyes. I smiled warmly at him despite the situation and whether or not it was for me, or that he genuinely felt it, he smiled back at me. The pain in it was evident.

"You don't talk about it much, do you?" I asked softly while threading my fingers through his hair.

"I like to pretend it didn't happen at all," he admitted. "I hate it when my family tries to get me to talk about it. Or my mom tells me that it's his birthday so maybe I should go put flowers on his grave." He rolled his eyes. "Like I need to be told. I go to his grave more than anyone else, and I was the youngest. I go and ask him for advice, y'know? Sometimes I'm just so fucking lost--especially as a father. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with my kids, and so I just got and ask him what to do." He lifted his eyes to mine and chuckled humorlessly. "Go ahead, tell me that I'm a pussy."

My eyes widened at Billie’s order and I began to shake my head slowly. How could he, in any way, think that I would judge him based upon the information he had just given me? While the whole thing was so depressing and so morbid, if I had been in Billie's shoes and I had lost my mother or father at his age, I couldn't see myself doing much differently. "You're an amazing father, Billie."

"I'm not," he moaned. "I'm really not. I think all the time what would dad be doing or would dad really have done that, and I can almost always answer no. He was so fucking good at everything he did. He’d probably be so fucking angry at me for letting my marriage fall apart.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. A small smile tugged on his lips after a moment. “He could really play the drums, Roxy. He used to sit me on his knee and try to teach me." He sighed heavily again. "I hate talking about it,” he admitted, answering my somewhat rhetorical question from before. “I don’t talk about it. I’ve never actually sat down and had a conversation about my dad’s death. I don’t like it. People tell me that it’ll make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t make him any less dead. It just reminds me that he’s actually gone.” He ran a hand through his hair hastily. “Twenty years later and it's still fucking hard."

I shook my head slowly while continuing to thread my hands through Billie’s hair. I wanted so desperately to find the right words to say at the moment, but unfortunately my mind couldn’t process any. “I—no one, no one judges you for taking it hard, Billie,” I stated quietly. I gently pulled his head against my chest for comfort. He didn’t refuse. “Billie, if I had lost either of my parents, I would be lost, too. I can’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it.”

Billie pulled away from my body to look up at me. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as his eyes focused upon my face. A moment later he pressed his lips up against my own. I welcomed them. “I’m fucking neurotic and practically a fucking sociopath and just, ah—thank you,” he mumbled against my lips. “Thank you for putting up with my shit today.” He chuckled and ran a hand over his face. “I would have taken off a long time ago, if I was you.”

I grinned down at Billie. I assumed that he was tired of talking about his dad’s death and considering the fact that I think that while telling me about it, he also stated that he hated to do just that thing, I certainly wasn’t going to push him. As odd as it sounds, I couldn’t help but feel a bit honored at the fact that Billie had apparently stayed silent about his dads death since it had happened, yet he had just poured his heart out to me about it. “I tried,” I admitted. “When we were fighting over the Grammy.”

Billie stared at me for a moment with a cocked eyebrow and then once he recalled the event, he began to laugh. “Oh shit,” he sighed, “ah shit, Roxy, I’m so sorry about all of today. This has been a fucking disaster.” He laughed and sighed once again. “Do you know what I figured we would do today? I figured that I would make you lunch and dinner, and maybe take you out somewhere. Or we’d just, y’know bum around here all day. Finally get to spend quality time with each other.” He groaned quietly. “This was the last thing I thought would happen. I’m so sorry, Roxy.”

I smiled at Billie as I watched him slowly remove himself from the stairs and walk over to mount the guitar back on the wall. “Don’t be sorry. I started all of this,” I said with a coy smile. “I’m the one who flipped out over the Grammy and wanted to know about the guitar.” Billie went to argue, however I silenced him by pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Hmmm,” he hummed as he pulled away. “Okay, fine. Then let’s start over, alright?” He proposed. I cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s pretend none of this happened. I’ll take you back upstairs, and you’ll let me sweep you off of your feet like I planned to do. Sound good?”

I giggled at Billie’s plans and the fact that if he was anything like me, he probably actually had been planning that the entire day. “Okay, fine,” I agreed. Billie grinned widely at me in what I assumed to be relief. He took my hand immediately and began upwards towards the door to the studio. Once we had stepped out of it and closed the door behind us, Billie had begun to lead me back down the hallway to where the kitchen had been and Rocky waited rather impatiently for us to return. “You know,” I started hesitantly. Considering all that had happened that day, I didn’t feel much of any need to restrain myself at the moment. What else could I possibly get myself into with my questions? “You never showed me your bedroom after you told me that you would.”

Billie cocked an eyebrow while a mischievous smile began to spread across his lips. “I know. Why so interested?” He asked. He gently pushed me up against the wall beside us and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips. Although I didn’t physically fight his hands from crawling around my back, I mentally reminded myself of the respectable girl I had been. It had taken me about four years (granted, we had started dating when we were eleven) to sleep with Bryan, I’d be damned if I’d give into Billie any sooner.

I rolled my eyes as I gently pushed Billie off of me. “Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean I want to crawl into bed with you, you know,” I reminded him.

Billie rolled his eyes as he wiped saliva on the back of his arm. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Roxanne.” I’d be lying if I was to say that I wasn’t surprised and, despite my previous thoughts, somewhat appalled. “Yet,” he added with a wink and I almost choked on my own saliva. He giggled at the fact that he had most definitely caught me off guard. “I mean, my bed is probably the most comfortable one in the entire bay area, but that’s not the reason I want to show you my room. But I’m a fuckin’ romantic sonofabitch, so you’ll have to wait until later.”

“Excuse me?” I asked slowly.

Billie laughed and waved a hand dismissively at me. “You’ll see what I’m talking about later. I haven’t given up on sweeping you off of your feet today.” Billie went to head back down the hall towards the kitchen, however paused and wheeled around to face me again. “What time do you have to be back tonight?” He asked.

I thought for a moment about Billie’s question. Truth was, I probably should have been home earlier than my aunt would be, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit so. I didn’t want to go home. I shrugged. “I mean, my aunt gets home around 7 or 8 I think, but otherwise I, uh I don’t know.”

Billie’s eyes lit up at my words. “Perfect.”